Tag: Masters

  • 10 Frequently Asked Questions About Boxing After 40

    10 Frequently Asked Questions About Boxing After 40

    Is it safe to box in your forties? Are you likely to be injured? Should you even consider boxing if you have small children at home?

    Lisa Creech Bledsoe at Second Round in Raleigh.
    That’s me, still boxing at 47.

    I started boxing at 42, I have a husband and three kids at home, and looking back, I’m slightly amazed that I never had these questions back when I started. But in those days I had other, more pressing issues. I’d never done anything like boxing (or anything else) for myself before. I was miserable and depressed. I didn’t think my marriage was going to survive. I frankly didn’t care what happened in the ring; I was just blindly hoping for something to relieve the darkness.

    Boxing pulled me out of the abyss, and taught me how to fight for myself and the things I wanted.

    And as I grew more proficient in boxing (and life) and started to spar regularly, people began to pose these questions to me.

    They’re good questions from people who mean well, and some of them come from people who are not (or haven’t been) boxers themselves. But they ALSO come from boxers, like the awesome Glowing Edge reader who sent this email (I’ve edited it slightly):

    I started MMA and kickboxing a year ago when I was 40. Been largely enjoying it and making good progress. I spar and grapple so it’s not pure ring work and punching but I do a fair share of boxing and boxing training.

    I’ve definitely been tagged a few times. Nothing knee wobbling and no concussions but stunned a few times and a swollen nose once. And I can give it right back.

    So, I’m not really scared about getting tagged, but after training I have a lot of thoughts, like, I’m 41 years old. I have small children at home. Do I need to be getting hit in the head at all? With all of the stuff in the news about concussions/suicide/etc. is even this very modest amount of boxing a risk? I need my brain at this point more than my fists. I talked to my doctor and she said she isn’t too worried if I’m not doing frequent, full contact boxing but I thought I’d see what your thoughts are.

    I don’t see myself competing in the future unless it’s in jiu jitsu where you can compete as a “senior.” However, I like to put the skills I have into practice. I’m in the best shape and the least stressed out I’ve ever been so I’m hesitant to limit myself to just the bag but I also want to be smart.

    First of all, how fantastic to hear about someone taking up a fight sport and getting in such great shape. And clearly doing well and enjoying themselves! Also, he got checked out by a doctor, who gave him a reasonably cautious but optimistic go-ahead (I’ll talk about frequency of sparring below). That’s win #2, because not all doctors will genuinely support someone who boxes; some are very frowny-scowly. And finally, the good news is that it IS possible to compete in a “senior” division in boxing, just like in jiu jitsu. See below…

    I’ll get there, I promise! But let me see if I can answer a few of the most frequently asked questions first.

    1. Can you box in your 40s?

    Sure you can. Plenty of us do. You can even compete in boxing in your 40s on an official amateur or a professional level.

    Even if you don’t get in the ring for sparring or competition, you can get a phenomenal all-body workout with boxing and get into the best shape of your entire life. But you probably already knew this. I think the real question comes next.

    2. Do you have to get hit in boxing, or can you box without that?

    You CAN box with NO body contact.

    You will hit things, but you don’t have to BE hit. You can do all the fitness training that goes with boxing, even hitting the heavy bag, speed bag, and mitts, without ever getting punched in the face (or body) at all. For people who have concerns about safety, there you go. Non-contact boxing is going to be the safest path for you.

    3. Are you going to get injured if you box?

    Boxing is like any sport; you can, and probably will sustain some sort of minor injuries.

    All of my non-contact boxing injuries were the kind I could have gotten simply going to a gym to work out. Beyond the normal aches and pains, the torn rotator cuff (which I got doing unassisted pull-ups, and I don’t do those any more) was the worst.

    Jose and Cesar ACFN6
    Cesar Hernandez and Jose Santiago, both fighting over 40.

    If you do spar or compete, you may get a black eye, or a bloody nose. The more serious injuries tend to happen to new boxers who are not as skilled and a lot more scared than an experienced boxer.

    My worst injury in the ring was as a newbie — I got a broken rib, and that bastard hurt. Took me about 3 months to get over that one, but I haven’t been seriously injured since.

    So. Minor shit, yeah. Big stuff? No. And I try to spar about once a week, and compete every year.

    4. What about hard punches to the face and head? Aren’t they dangerous?

    They certainly can be. That’s why boxers (at any age)

      • wear protective gear (wraps and gloves, headgear, and mouthguard),
      • spar at lower power than we would compete at,
      • only spar once or twice a week, and
      • train with good coaches and sparring partners who have everyone’s best interest at heart.

    And yes, there are lots of conversations in the media (even from President Obama, at this year’s Superbowl) and among scientists and pension boards about whether or not repeated concussions from boxing, football, and soccer are causing dementia, Parkinson’s, and a host of other problems. MMA head injuries are under the media microscope as well. All of those should be considered by someone who wants to get in the ring.

    Have I thought about all this? Of course. But I also work pretty hard to mitigate the risks. And I haven’t been doing this since I was a teenager, so I’m not going to have the same number of years of it piling up like a young fighter might.

    5. But professional boxers don’t wear headgear during their fights…

    That’s true, and pro boxing definitely takes a harder toll on the body than amateur boxing, which requires competitors to wear headgear.

    However, pro boxers don’t spend the majority of their time fighting at full power without headgear.

    They spend MOST of their time training, lifting weights, doing intervals, and working the bags and mitts like everyone else. They spar more when getting ready for a fight, but even so, they don’t go out every single week (like football players do) and put themselves into the highest risk situations. They might fight a few times per year, even as many as 10 times a year in the elite circles. But the majority of boxers aren’t doing that.

    6. Is boxing worse for injuries than other sports?

    I might put competitive fighting (including MMA and all of the martial arts) in the top 10 of most dangerous sports, along with football, soccer, rugby, and cheerleading, but I don’t have any kind of science or data behind that.

    But what about base jumping, free climbing, bull riding, motocross, pro surfing, scuba diving, street luge, BMX riding, heli-skiing, hockey, lacrosse, mountaineering, NASCAR, and other dangerous sports?

    I do know that you can be mildly or devastatingly injured in any sport. You can build up cumulative damage over a period of years in any sport. It’s worth considering, but I’ve found that boxing is also worth doing.

    7. Is it irresponsible to box if you have kids at home who need you?

    Before I started boxing, my three sons had a mother who did everything for them and nothing for herself, and they had parents with a failing marriage. I don’t know if they knew how unhappy and depressed I was, but I know it’s very different for them now.

    Since I started boxing, they’ve learned to do their own laundry, make their own meals, and they are expected to pitch in around the house. They have a mother who is tough and courageous. They have parents with a solid marriage and joy in life.

    It’s clear to me which one is the better model.

    I understand the people who worry about head injuries. I think that’s a reasonable concern, but I don’t see a lot of that in boxing, except at the long-term professional level.

    Boxing teaches you to care for your physical, spiritual, and emotional health. It teaches discipline, respect, and balance. And fight sports are practiced in very controlled arenas, with coaches and teammates and specialized gear.

    These all feel like very important life gifts and opportunities to have.

    8. Should I let my daughter see her father fighting?

    There are other parents who are not sure how they feel about their sons and (particularly) daughters seeing Mom or Dad punching and getting punched in the ring.

    I think this is about personal preference, although I can tell you that I wish I’d discovered boxing LONG before I was in my 40s. But I had no idea women even boxed, and I’d certainly never learned anything about the real skills, training, and care that goes into learning to fight.

    My sons aren’t particularly interested in boxing (not having grown up with it), but if you ask them they’ll tell you it’s kinda cool that their mom fights. They would be willing to come see me fight (and I’d love to have them), but I usually have to travel and can’t afford for all of us to go.

    When people say “But you don’t want your children to see you getting beat up!” I always smile at the assumption that I’m getting “beat up” in the ring. Maybe other people are getting “beat up” by me, I’d love to say, but I know what they mean.

    I hit, and I get hit, but I’m also okay. I like my sparring partners: we laugh, groan, grunt, and sweat together. We try to talk over our mouthguards. We get yelled at by our coaches. We work on specific tactics and shots. We nod and acknowledge particularly skilled moves.

    Some days I suck, or perform poorly, or am utterly outmatched. Some days I’m teaching and supporting newer fighters. But it’s not typically an atmosphere of anger or ugliness.

    I’d be fine with my daughter watching, if I had one.

    9. Should I consider competitive boxing if I’m over 40?

    USA Boxing, which governs amateur competition in the United States, puts all boxers over the age of 35 into the Masters category. It differs from the younger age groups in that Masters boxers are required to have a few more medical checks, like an EKG every 5 years. And in addition to the normal weight regulations, Masters boxers can not have an official match with anyone who is more than 10 years older or younger than they are.

    So of course you can consider competitive boxing if you’re over 40. And for some of us, that’s the first time in our lives we actually do consider it!

    10. How many fights can an over-40 boxer expect to get?

    There aren’t nearly as many Masters fighters as there are in the under-35 bracket, as you might guess. I haven’t tracked the men, but most years in my state (NC) there have been between one and three registered female Master boxers. I usually know who they are. I’d guess there are at least five or six times that many male Master fighters.

    So there aren’t as many opportunities to get matches, but if you have the money and can travel, Gleason’s Gym in NY holds annual Masters tournaments and Ringside also has a Masters tourney every year.

     

    It’s not impossible to get fights in your local area (I’ve done it), but often you have to find and get someone to travel to your location. Corporate boxing groups like Atlanta Corporate Fight Night, are a newer thing in the US, and also offer opportunities for 40 and up boxers.

    Coming Next: Best Advice for Over 40 Boxers

    When I raised the issue of fighting after 40 on the Facebook page for The Glowing Edge, I got some great responses from boxers about what to think about, ways boxing is different for us, and what factors are the most different. Since this one got a bit long, my next post will cover some of those items, so check back soon.

    Meanwhile, I hope you’ll leave a comment below with your own questions and thoughts on the matter! Stay strong and keep swinging…

    Image credits — Top: Johnathan Friedan; middle: Eric Langley Photography

  • Choosing Headgear for Boxing

    Choosing Headgear for Boxing

    If you are ready to make the leap from learning to box to actually sparring in the boxing ring, one of your first major decisions will have to do with finding the right headgear.

    It can be daunting to figure out what, specifically, you need, especially since there are so many choices. And if you’re still fairly new to your gym, you may not know who to ask or whether to trust what someone tells you.

    Since your decision about headgear can cost you more than a hundred bucks, here’s a little information that may help.

    Here’s what I know about you…

    You’re scared. And with very good reason. You know you’re about to take straight, hard punches direct to your face and you are BRAND NEW at this. Holy shit, that’s enough to scare anyone. But here’s the deep dark (not really) secret that may help you: everyone — and there are NO exceptions — everyone begins here. Every single badass in that ring has faced this knowledge (I’m about to get punched in the face!) and had to do the serious soul-searching that it takes to suck it up and do it anyway.

    However — and this is important — headgear is not going to help you avoid getting punched in the face. You’ll still get punched, and it will still be somewhat of a shock, and you’ll still freak out a little bit every time it happens for a while. Headgear is not a way to avoid the inevitable. You’re going to take a shot. A bunch of them, most likely. (I think you’re gonna do great, and I have some advice that may help, so hang in there with me.)

    I’m saying all this because I was so fucking scared the first time I got in the ring I wanted to put on a suit of armor and a full-face motorcycle helmet. I was terrified of taking my first punches. But since there were not any suits of armor or motorcycle helmets handy, I looked for the next best thing: a face cage.

    Sigh. Let me explain about face cages.

    Why face cages suck

    I call all of the headgear types pictured below face cages. But technically there are headgear styles with mouthbars (green Ring to Cage, below), nosebars (red Cleto Reyes, below),and actual wire cages (black Fight Club, below). Our gym had the nosebar variety, and I didn’t care how nasty that thing was, I was not getting in the sparring ring without it.

    What I didn’t know then was that I would barely be able to see in the face cage. Even the best styles (and if I had to pick, the mouth bar style is probably the least horrible choice) significantly obstruct your vision, which is a very bad thing in the ring. In my opinion, it’s not worth the sacrifice.

    However, there is one decent reason to wear a face cage. If you are a heavyweight, sparring hard multiple times a week with other heavyweights, you might consider it. I don’t think this is the best way to train, but I know at least one heavyweight guy who wears one, and this is why he does it. Those dudes are no joke; they throw power, and they aim to destroy. I recommend the Cleto Reyes above, because it has a lace-up top, but the Title version in the picture to the right has a chin buckle rather than velcro, which is good. More about these features below.

    And be of good cheer, ye faint of heart: If you will do the things on the list below, you may find yourself feeling less desperate for a face cage than I was when I first got in…

    How to significantly reduce your desire for a face cage

    This part is simple, and you can read more about each one of these items in the posts listed at the bottom of this article. But the gist is this:

    1. Spar for the first time in a gym where you’ve seen great care taken to introduce new boxers to the ring.
    2. Spar for the first time only after you’ve gotten in shape at least a little bit.
    3. Spar for the first time only with the support of a trainer you really trust.
    4. Spar for the first time with an experienced boxer who will bring the game to a level you can cope with.
    5. Consider asking your trainer if you can spar for the first time on offense only. (You’re the only one throwing punches.)

    Of course, I had ALL of these conditions, and still wanted my face cage like a baby wants her mommy. Sometimes you just gotta do what it takes to get your ass in the ring. Kudos to you, no matter what you decide about headgear.

    Just remember that even if you DO wear a cage, it doesn’t lessen the shock of taking your first shots; it just makes it harder for your to see well enough to do anything about it. Mine left an enormous bruise on my chin from where the not-very-well-padded chin bar hooked under my face. I only ever wore that damned thing once.

    And whether you decide to buy or borrow one, I’m betting you won’t wear it more than a time or two before you decide you’re ready for less sucky headgear. Which make me sooo glad I just wore the disgusting communal gym version and didn’t pay $130 for one of these suckers.

    Read on, warrior.

    Stage One: Borrow Headgear

    First of all, if you’re not sure yet and just want to test things out, I would *borrow* headgear rather than buying it.

    Most gyms have communal headgear that you can use, and they very frequently have face cage headgear, if you’re determined you want that. In some cases they have Masters headgear with extra padding and bigger cheekguards. More on that below.

    Borrowed or communal headgear is a little bit disgusting, but if you’ve made it this far in boxing, you’re probably not a clean freak and you’re at least somewhat used to sweat, spit, stink, blood, snot, grime, and germs. (Sorry for reminding you of the disgust factor. Part of the deal, no?)

    A slightly better borrowing tactic is to find someone at your gym with a similar build as you and ask if you can borrow their headgear. Most people don’t like to do this, but once in a while is not such a big deal. I’ve loaned mine out and borrowed other people’s a time or two.

    Either way, you probably don’t want to borrow headgear for very long. And truthfully, you won’t have to. Once you start getting some experience in the ring, you’ll have a pretty good idea about whether you’re ready to lay out cash for some headgear of your own.

     Stage Two: Buy Cheap $30 Headgear

    After my first time sparring in a face cage, I went straight to the Dick’s Sporting Goods and ponied up for the thin, cheapo version of headgear. That’s the Everlast headgear I had, in the picture, except mine was red.

     Why cheapo headgear?

    Because I’d been through my first sparring experience, and had learned that I was a fucking superhero. Didn’t know I had it in me! Which is NOT to say I looked awesome in the ring because I emphatically didn’t; my biggest revelation was that I could take a punch just fine. Holy shit, who knew??

    So when I went to the local sporting goods store, I was plenty happy to shell out $30 and walk off with thin-ass, shiny new headgear that no one had sweated, bled, spit, or germed in. Yet.

    And you know what? It was fine. Not great, but fine. And I used it for several months while I decided whether I wanted to get an actual amateur boxing fight.

    The reason that this was my next decision point was that in order to fight, you have to wear USA Boxing certified headgear, and my cheap stuff was definitely not that.

    Stage Three: Leveling Up to Great Headgear

    I spent a lot of time researching, buying and returning, and finally purchasing my top-level headgear, and it’s served me incredibly well for several years. I ended up buying the same headgear that my trainer, who was a world-ranked pro fighter, wore. (And she even let me borrow hers once to try it out.)

    My headgear is made by Fight Gear (I’d give you a link, but I don’t see it online anymore), and has all the features mentioned below.

    Here’s what you want in the headgear you are going to pay $100 bucks or more for.

    • A lace up top. Check out the photo. That’s me, in my lace-up-top headgear. The funny little white thing (you see it poking up in the air in the photo at the top of this post) is where I’ve taped the laces together to keep them from flying around and popping someone in the eye. A lace up top is CRITICAL because you want to be able to adjust your headgear, and the “standard” kinds, like the Everlast that was my first version, rarely fit correctly.
    • A chin buckle, NOT velcro. Velcro wears out; you’ll learn this if you have boxing gloves for very long. But on a glove, worn out velcro can be fixed with athetic tape or glove cuffs; on headgear, you’ll have to pop for a new one. So get the buckle kind to start with, and you’ll be good to go.
    • USA Boxing Certification. You’ll either read this in the description (if you’re shopping online) or you’ll see the official patch on the side of the headgear itself. You can see the patch on my headgear in the picture above as well as the top of the post. You MUST have this if you plan to compete, but even if you don’t plan to compete, this is headgear you know is decent.
    • A velcro or lace up back. Again, this is all about securing the best possible fit for your head size and shape, including your hair. Mine has a wide velcro flap, but the lace up ones work as well.

    You want your headgear to fit pretty tightly when you’re cold, because as you warm up and start to sweat, you DON’T want it slipping around on you. Again, this is critical, because you need to be able to see, and you might find yourself taking a knockout punch while you’re busy futzing with your headgear in the ring (I pulled off a nice one once this way).

    Be willing to order and return until you get the size right. Incidentally, mine is an Adult Medium. And yes, there are youth sizes in headgear.

    Finally, about Masters Headgear…

    “Masters” is the term used to denote the category of competitive amateur boxers over the age of 35. That’s me.

    Don’t get Masters headgear if you can avoid it. Sadly, a few major boxing tournaments require it if you fight Masters, and in that case, you might try borrowing one because I’d sure hate for you to spend all that money for one of these things.

    The reason Masters headgear sucks is the same reason the face cages suck. On Masters headgear they heavily pad everything so that the thing weighs a ton, feels incredibly stiff, and sticks out a lot. There are also ridiculously prominent cheek protectors that impede your vision.

    You can see the red Fight Gear Masters headgear in the picture; I’ve tried it on but not sparred in it. How can anyone see through that thing??

    The Whole Enchilada

    If you skipped to here, this is what you want to know. Borrow headgear (face cage or otherwise) your first time in the ring. Or pop for cheap headgear until you’re sure you’re ready to level up. When you’re ready for really good headgear, expect to spend about a hundred bucks, and get a lace-up top, buckle-style chin strap, USA boxing certification, and a lace-up or velcro back. Don’t get Masters headgear if you can possibly avoid it.

    All my opinion, of course, and I’d love to hear your experience and comments below.

    And I want to give a special shout-out to Jackie Haidar, a boxer who is making that huge step into the sparring ring. She emailed me to ask about headgear, and said some really nice things that made me grin like an idiot.

    I *LOVE* to hear from you guys, and it makes my entire week (month!) when you drop me a line. You can always reach me at Lisa [at] The Glowing Edge [dot] com.

    First Time Sparring Advice

    Here’s some more advice about sparring for the first time (they all open in a new window):

    What to Expect The First Time You Spar in Boxing

    What You Should Know Before You Spar

    First Time Sparring: Last Minute Advice

    And, if you feel ready for this one (I promise you’ll be okay):

    Sustaining Damage During Sparring

     Now go do it! And be sure to check back in and let me know how it went, you ass-kicking superstar.

    Image credit: The two pictures of me sparring were taken by my friend Melissa Eggleston, who was kind enough to show up one afternoon to Second Round where I train, and actually climbed into the ring with very expensive photo gear in order to get some of her own “shots” off… You rock, Melissa.

  • Boxing Win in Wilmington

    Boxing Win in Wilmington

    I had my first fight with my Second Round team in Wilmington.

    It’s always a toss-up, fighting Masters, as to whether I’ll actually get an opponent. I weighed in at an event last month and my opponent didn’t show. Women over the age of 35 who want to compete in the ring are few and far between, then there is the further narrowing of the field because of weight class, experience level, geography, and the random unexpected injuries, family demands and other contingencies.

    Because it’s so difficult to get opponents, my goal has become to get one fight every year. Last year got checked off with my October fight. (The December fight was classified “exhibition” and doesn’t count toward my goal.) This year got checked off with my fight in March. I’m feeling a little gleeful to have met and exceeded my goal for this year now!

    My opponent got connected for this match through a coach in Wilmington about 3 weeks ago. He had let my coach know she was light and we’d have to get our weights closer in order to get the match. I got down from 142 to 135 and I think she came up from 125 to 132. And she drove 6 hours from Virginia to be at the event; I only had to drive two hours.

    We both arrived just before weigh-ins were scheduled to begin. There were only 6 women out of the 44 total boxers fighting at this event, and only one Masters bout; I picked her out immediately. She was really beautiful, and just a bit shorter than me. I smiled and spoke to her.  Not everyone wants to chat with their opponent in advance of a match, but she was entirely polite. We made weight, turned in our passbooks, and parted ways to wait out the endless, miserable hours of the day until we could get our fight.

    I love pretty much everything about boxing except the day of a fight.

    Well, and cutting or gaining weight; those both suck, but they are at least bearable. The endless hours of waiting for a tiny, six minute test of your skill and power are excruciating.

    Everyone has different tricks and coping mechanisms, but there’s no escaping the endless circus of weigh-ins, passbooks, medicals, getting your food/liquid intake right and timed, sitting for hours in metal folding chairs, finding a bathroom (this one didn’t have toilet paper), constantly tamping down your anxiety, keeping an eye on the time, meeting your opponent, staying limber, and maintaining sanity in the loud din of the crowd.

    Every time I go through it I take a paperback to read, but this never helps. There are too many things you must pay attention to during the long hours of waiting. Even having my Shuffle (finally got the playlist right — the quiet stuff from my exhibition fight had failed at fight #2 in Atlanta, so I went back to hard rock) didn’t help much, because I constantly had to take out my earbuds to answer questions, find out what I was expected to do next, help someone find scissors, etc., etc., etc.

    Finally I dressed out and sat for my coach to wrap my hands. I normally love this ritual, but in this case, I was wracked with anxiety because my fight got moved up at the last minute so I felt late, after all that damn waiting. I straddled my metal chair, draped my arms over the back where Coach Massey could reach them, and spent the next 15 minutes staring at the bright silver dog tag on his chest. It says “One Bad Jab.” It was his ring name, from his pro fighting days.

    “Do you miss fighting?” I asked him.

    “Hell, no,” he responded, laughing and flashing his gold tooth. For just a moment I felt entirely aligned with his sentiment. Why would anyone want to go through this misery on a regular basis?

    “I miss sparring though,” he continued, and I nodded in understanding. All the guts and joy of boxing without the hellish hours of a fight day.

    Once you’re wrapped and gloved, you become entirely dependent on your coaches. I had to ask Coach Mandy to find my headband and put it on me for the short period before my match. She gave me a drink of water. She found my mouthpiece (in my sock — this is a great place to keep it in the hour before you fight, btw) and checked my laces.

    I made my usual joke: “I need to go to the bathroom,” I said as I stretched out and began to move. The big gloves make this impossible, unless you have a reeeeeallly close friend.

    “Can’t help you there,” she said quickly, and we both laughed a little.

    I continued to chatter nervously, almost mindlessly: what I should remember, how I should move; combos, tactics, offenses and defenses.

    At some point she stopped me quietly with a hand over my gloves.

    “You’ve already trained for this,” she reminded me. “You’re overthinking it. Just let your body perform.”

    She was absolutely right, and it was the perfect advice, the best possible thing I could have heard.

    The match before mine was finishing. I stood ringside amid the din of screaming onlookers as the two fighters ahead of me battled. I couldn’t hear Coach Massey’s advice anymore. He held pads for me but I couldn’t hear the combos. I shuffled like an anxious racehorse, frustration rising in me.

    Finally, the closing bell.

    Massey held one pad. “Gimme the power,” he said, “Jab, right.”

    I sighed in deep relief. If there is one thing I can do, this is it. My jab was fierce, and the right was at full-scale knockout level. It was like a pistol shot: bip-BAM.

    “Again.”

    Bip-BAM. Bip-BAM! I could hear it echo in the rafters.

    “Keep going.”

    Six more combos in a row I gave him, every one as perfect and loud and solid. He grinned and shook his head, and his gaze did a slow circle of the crowd around us; all eyes were now on us.

    Later I realized that the eyes of my opponent were probably also on us. Massey knew what he was doing, letting me show my power like that. Letting me go in confident in my own strength.

    Outside of the actual fight, it was the best moment of my entire night.

    I rolled under the ropes and felt the deep satisfaction of the ring settle around me. Time to do what I do.

    My opponent surged out with a flurry. I tapped out measuring jabs and began to circle, assessing what I was up against. It’s probably better to go ahead and claim the early part of the first round, but I wasn’t really expecting such a long, light string of flurries. She had punches in bunches, no doubt.

    It didn’t take me long to see what I would be doing. Her hands were busy, but she was staying squared up a bit, giving me a sweet little pipeline down the center to her face. An invitation to my power right.

    Bip-BAM, bip-BAM, bip-BAM. Yep, those were actually gonna work.

    My jabs weren’t connecting every time, but my rights were absolutely solid, and every single one was on target. I suppressed my glee and put my brain back in gear. She was not bringing pain, but she might be scoring with the sheer number of shots she was throwing.

    In the amateurs it doesn’t matter if you can throw a bomb; a hard hit scores the same as a medium hit, so long as it connects. Bombs are intimidating, but they aren’t 3-pointers.

    I had to shut down her scoring machine. I clinched, got my arm around the back of her head and squeezed and leaned, hard. The ref nearly decked me himself, breaking the clinch and yelling at me for my patently illegal move. But it broke the onslaught and didn’t cost me. They’ll warn you before they take a point.

    I glanced over to see how my opponent was taking it. Her face was flushed from the power rights already. I absolutely had to keep her on the end of my jab and prevent her inside game.

    She rushed back out and we worked hard to the end of the round.

    At the break both of my coaches told me I was ahead, but I wasn’t confident about it. I knew I wasn’t moving my feet and I thought the judges might be counting her shots higher, even though they were coming mostly from the sides. I felt like I’d only taken one or two solid shots to my head — nearly everything else was on my arms and shoulders, which meant my guard was good, but I wasn’t moving around enough.

    The second round was where I began to rely on Coach Massey’s strategy. Once you’re in and have tried your game, it’s unbelievably helpful to have someone calling your shots and guiding you through the hard mental work while you do the physical work.

    My attempts at longer combos were not scoring all the way through; my hooks often missed because I wasn’t getting in position and getting them off before she moved. She was fast, and seemed to throw four and five shots at a time.

    Massey 86’d my hooks. “Straighten it out,” he called from my corner. “Give me the straight right….Thank you.”

    The right was scoring and I still had all bars in my power meter. I wasn’t gassed. My feet were not moving, but my one-two continued to hold the fort.

    She was slowing and starting to pant. The left side of her face was beginning to swell. I felt like a robot, an automatron, an idiot on repeat. Surely I could do something besides this, surely. Lord I wanted finesse, grace! I wanted to move less like a wooden toy; I wanted to show beauty as well as power. Why can’t I be pretty in the ring??

    “Go to the body,” Massey called from the corner.

    I sent up a mental thank you, and suddenly had something new to do.

    “Double the jab,” he called, and I did. I did lots of things, but there was one thing that worked every time…

    At the round break, I had the feeling we were going change gears. I don’t remember what either of my coaches said (other than their reassurance that I was still ahead), I mostly only recall going back out, still feeling slow but strong.

    Massey held me back, over and over again, with a steady call of “Wait for her…” She was struggling now, and I could stand and deliver. If I could time it just right each time, she would come forward into my shots.

    “Don’t advance,” he warned, “Hold…”

    It was hard, because I felt I had to advance to score, but he was right, she was coming and with a surge of joy I realized I was beginning to see her shots arriving. Midway through the third I ducked a spectacular all-in jab-right, and she went sailing past me; the crowd roared. Belatedly I realized I should have come up with a quick left hook.

    I sighed inwardly. Someday I may finally put all the pieces of this game together, but not today. Today I was a particularly skilled kindergartener, and my rights would have to carry the day.

    And they did.

    My opponent was wonderful. She never quit, she barreled forward and burned energy at a ferocious rate. She threw far more combos than I did. She didn’t let the hard power put her out. She gave game to the very last bell.

    I deeply respect that. ANY woman — or man, for that matter — willing to go through what a competitive boxer goes through deserves the title Bad Ass. Sara (I never heard her last name), I salute you. You were awesome.

    I was happy to be handed the gold medal, and once again I was stunned at my instant “I want to do this again” response, even though I’d spent the 24 hours before my glorious 6 minutes in pure anguish.

    There’s no rational explanation.

    Only the challenge to be better. Only the relentless push to master my body and make it perform in concert with my brain in the complex intricacies of this sweet science.

    And the sheer, brutal pleasure of a fight.

    Image: Coach Willie “One Bad Jab” Massey with me after the win. Thanks to Cathy Linkous for the photo!